CHAPTER II

THE BOY LECTURER

A Lecture on the uses of Steam—Parliamentary Ambitions—King’s College—Politics in the Fifties—Cribbage and Cricket.

Fawcett was interested in the scientific lectures, and he had a very good time. Professor Tyndall took them out surveying. Harry comments on a lecture at which he heard that there ‘is fire in everything, even ice’; he also records some chemical experiments in the laboratory.

In September the diary states, ‘I began writing my lecture on phonography, on the uses of steam without copying any of it.’

There is an error here, as these were two lectures, not one. That on steam, in a blue marbled-covered copy-book, lies before the writer. The title, inscribed in tall, shaded handwriting, contained within scrupulously ruled lines, is:

================================= A Lecture delivered by H. Fawcett On Uses of Steam At Queenwood College September 27, 1847. =================================

The ink, which was black sixty-six years ago, is now much faded; but the essay of the fourteen-year-old schoolboy is still fresh and interesting, and so prophetic of the man that it is like a simple map indicating the chief features of the country we are about to see.

Henry writes in his careful penmanship, for which he must have been marked at least 9+ in a scale of 10, ‘Things which appear simple to an unobserving Person are to an observing Person the most complicated and beautifully formed ... such a simple Thing as a blade of Grass, has ever any Man been yet so wise as to tell what it is?’

[Sidenote: The Essayist.]

Here is another curious sentence written by the bright-eyed youngster with the monumental dignity of the lecturer:

‘What can be so beautifully contrived and framed as the human Body, where there are innumerable Parts, acting all in Unity?... if one of the Parts go wrong, the whole Body is put out of Tune ... is there any one Part of our Body which we could dispense with?... I think the Answer “No” must be evident to every one.’

It is curious that Fawcett should have been called upon later by the loss of his eyesight to contradict this childish statement, and to prove not only that we can get along without some of our most precious faculties, but that the law of compensation so works that we may be able to accomplish more by reason of the loss.

The essay proceeds to deal with railways, and contains all kinds of figures relating to tonnage, trains, traffics, the cost of railroad construction, etc., all with careful, correct figures; a complicated study for a railroad expert. This schoolboy is already coping with the figures and statistics of which he had later such a marvellous control. He dwells on the importance of the railroad to the Wiltshire farmer, who can sell his cheese at sevenpence a pound in London, when it is only worth sixpence where it is made. In this and similar statements we find the political economist foreshadowed: he speaks of the nobility who selfishly object to having railways, which he feels are the greatest help to the common people; and he adds, ‘A Man should sacrifice a little of his own Pleasure when he knows that by sacrificing that Pleasure he will benefit the People at large.’ We must note that pleasure is always spelt with a beautiful and exceptionally large P.

Later there are some intelligent remarks on the power of a railway to create traffic, so that ’some Railways have been made between two Places where there was not sufficient Traffic for a Coach, and yet when they are made, a Trade springs up, and they pay very well indeed.’

[Sidenote: Transportation—Rich and Poor.]

He further approves of the railway as a means of cheap transportation, and remarks, ‘Many a Person can avail himself of a Day’s Pleasure ...’ or, ‘Enjoy the beautiful Air of some Country Village.’ Here we have not only the keystone of Henry Fawcett’s character, but indications of the political activities in which he was to be so pre-eminent. His public career was one long, unbroken effort to do away with the monopolies and prerogatives of any class, and so to increase the independence and rights of the poor.

The essay continues by quoting from an article in the _Quarterly Review_ written in 1825, which considers it impossible that an engine could travel eighteen miles an hour. With evident joy he quotes, ‘The gross Exaggerations of the Powers of the Locomotive Steam Engine, or to speak English, the Steam Carriage, may delude for a time, but must end in Mortification to those concerned. We should as soon expect the People of Woolwich to suffer themselves to be fired off in Congreve’s Ricochet Rockets, as to trust themselves to the Mercies of such a Machine going at such a rate.’ Harry himself then tells of the M.P. who insisted that the best possible locomotive could not compete with a canal boat. The scribe seems fully to appreciate the humour of this, and so foreshadows the love of fun and the vibrant laugh of the man to be.

Steam-engines lead to steamships. Our author now invites us to cross ‘the wide heaving Ocean,’ saying, ‘When you are on a Voyage in a Steam Vessel you feel none of that Inconvenience of having to remain at Anchor for two or three Weeks waiting for a favourable Wind ... you can proceed, for you are quite independent of the Winds, and the Speed of a Steam Vessel is very considerably greater than that of any other Vessel.’ A steam vessel went from Liverpool to Boston in eleven days and nine hours, and yet when steam navigation was struggling into existence ‘it struck the minds of our brave Captains as a poor mean mechanical Thing unworthy of the least Consideration.’... ‘I think you may almost remark’ (note the conservative discretion) ‘that the greatest and most useful inventions when they are struggling into Existence receive the greatest Opposition, because they make great changes, and most people, especially the ignorant, are generally very adverse to any changes.’

[Sidenote: Patriotism—Bonaparte and Babylon.]

Now he boasts magnificently about the British navy and merchant marine, approves of Bonaparte’s wisdom in coveting the British sailors, and yet prudently warns all against pride, citing the lamentable consequence of lack of humility to Babylon and Nineveh. We are asked to consider the relative values of coal, diamonds, gold, and silver, and are informed that ‘every Difficulty can be overcome by steady Perseverance—some Persons will never scarcely be overcome by Difficulties—they say they will do it, and they will never rest till they have performed what they want to, and it is to Men like these that we are indebted.... No Improvements or Inventions will run into a Person’s Mind like Water will run into a Bottle, but they come from Years of Study and Perseverance.’

We are asked, ‘Do you suppose that Sir Isaac Newton established the Laws of Gravitation without some trouble, do you suppose that such a Piece of Poetry as Milton’s “Paradise Lost” was written without a Moment’s Thought—or do you suppose that Watt improved the Steam Engine without some hard Labour?’ Our scribe then finishes his masterpiece with a stupendous finale, by the help of a bit of poetry culled from an American newspaper and entitled the ’song of Steam,’ a verse of which will be sufficient:

‘I’ve no Muscle to weary, no Breast to decay, No Bones to be laid on the “Shelf,” And soon I intend you may go and play, While I manage the World by myself.’

This _magnum opus_, being now successfully brought to completion, is signed in full, no longer, as on the title-page, with only the initial of his first name, but by Henry Fawcett, writ exceedingly large and clear, Queenwood College, October 12th, 1847. Every page in the marbled copy-book has been filled with various spellings, and only a very few erasures, between 27th September and 12th October.

We have quoted this delicious essay as fully as space would allow, not only on account of its unique charm, but because every page is coloured by a preoccupation with those subjects and a love for those traits of human nature which were later so characteristic of Henry Fawcett, the teacher and statesman. In fact, we may accept this essay on steam as his official debut. The lecture had an encore at Salisbury in the family circle, when, as Harry writes, all were ‘much pleased with it, and Papa promised to give me a sovereign for it.’

[Sidenote: Phonography and simplified Spelling.]

His lecture on phonography is much in the spirit of to-day, when simplified spelling is causing such ardent controversies. Harry comments that ‘out of fifty thousand Words in the language, only fifty are written as they are pronounced.’ We must note that in these writings his own inventions in spelling tend to change these statistics.

The range of his composition at this period is great. An article on ‘Angling and Sir Isaac Walton’ is in happy contrast to the account of a first visit to London. Another fragment contains the acute observation that ’statesmen depend upon their brains.’ In another essay called ‘Reflection’ an imaginary trip is taken past Spain, during which the author ponders on people who are ‘made poor by gold.’ Progressing to Egypt, we are told that Mahomet was ‘in many respects a worthy man.’ Arriving in India, our guide tells us of a company of men who, ‘occupying a house of no very considerable size in London, have entirely from their enterprise and powers of mind, got possession of many thousand acres of land.’ Does this refer to the East India Company, and had Harry seen the stately East India House in Leadenhall Street on that first visit to London?

The breathless exuberant feat of imagination and philosophy closes with quotations from Portia’s lines to Mercy and Cicero’s oration on Verres, both of which, the author truthfully says, ’show powers of reflection.’

Harry was writing and studying with a definite end in view. Already the youth had determined on a political career, and when the schoolboys discussed their plans for the future he invariably declared that he meant to be a Member of Parliament. The statement was received with roars of laughter, but Harry remained imperturbably sure.

[Sidenote: Still at the foot of the Class.]

He was at Queenwood for a year and a half, and then went to London, where he first attended King’s College School, and then King’s College. A schoolmate described him as ‘a very tall boy with pale whitey brown hair, who always stood at the bottom of the lower sixth class.’

He attended the school in his fifteenth and sixteenth years, and then went to lectures in the college until the summer of 1852, when he was nineteen years old.

Standing in the school was, in those days, entirely determined by knowledge of the classics, for which Fawcett showed a grand indifference; but he gained the arithmetic prize in 1849, also the class-work prize, the first prize in German, and the second in French in the same term. His knowledge of these languages was always so vague that we fear his teacher was over-partial in the award, or that the other boys were strangely deficient. In 1850 he carried off another honour for mathematics, and a first prize after that in the Michaelmas term. The masters noted Fawcett’s unusual mathematical power, and were also impressed by his ability to write English prose.

[Sidenote: King’s College and Cricket.]

At Easter in 1851 he left school and worked only at the college for mathematics and classics. We hear that he made no particular mark; but he occasionally played billiards and cricket, and he was already an interested spectator in the gallery of the House of Commons.

During his stay in London he lived with some family connections, a Mr. and Mrs. Fearon. Mr. Fearon was a Chief Office Keeper at Somerset House, and lived there. Somerset House adjoins King’s College, and this was fortunate for Harry, who, when he first went to London, had much outgrown his strength. The hours spent in the little parlour tucked away in the vast building were not without charm for the home-loving boy. Sitting on the corner of the horse-hair sofa, with its relentless early Victorian back and its unyielding springs, trying, mostly in vain, not to disturb Mrs. Fearon’s best antimacassar, he would cheerfully play cribbage by the hour with his hostess, while his host expounded pungently on the questions of the day. Harry had passed from the Liberalism of the country home to the Liberalism of the metropolis. For both, Bright and Cobden were now leaders and standard-bearers, though Lord Palmerston was the Party Chief. Free Trade had been won, but neither Parliament nor country had settled down to it as a policy, and the need of another and more democratic Reform Bill was looming up on the political horizon.

These were the days that followed the abortive revolutions of ‘48. The battle for political independence was raging everywhere, but both leaders and rank and file were learning with bitterness to make haste slowly. None the less, hearts were glowing hotly for Freedom, and while Fawcett was in London, Kossuth, the Hungarian, was welcomed with enthusiasm. He followed Carl Schurz, that valiant apostle of Liberty, to America, where Garibaldi was already working at his soap factory on Staten Island. There was no doubt as to the heartiness of Kossuth’s reception across the Atlantic. The fire of Freedom burnt to high heaven there: was it not sufficient proof of this that the dandies of that land reverently encased their mighty brains in the Kossuth hat? Talk of these great men, of their vain endeavours, of the persecution of the poor, of the need of opening cages and letting in the light of Freedom, made its mark on Harry, and he often spoke afterwards of Fearon’s ‘quaint and forcible’ phrases.

In 1851 was the great Exhibition in Hyde Park. Did Harry’s tall head peer above the crowd that lined the streets as Queen Victoria drove in state to the opening of that proud achievement? One would like to think that once with seeing eyes Fawcett beheld the little lady who presided over England’s destinies throughout his working life.

And now Mr. Fawcett, senior, conscientiously counting his pennies, and the ability which his son had already shown as a student, went to his neighbour, the Dean of Salisbury. He showed the Dean Harry’s mathematical papers, and asked for advice about the next step. It was not customary for one of Harry’s social standing to go to a university, and the strain on the paternal purse to send him there would be considerable, but the Dean had no doubt that Cambridge offered the proper opening. The sacrifice was cheerfully made.

CAMBRIDGE

‘I count life just a stuff to try the soul’s strength on —educe the man.’—BROWNING.